


Beaut

by lazy_daze



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_daze/pseuds/lazy_daze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lovely <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Obstinatrix">obstinatrix</a> wanted to podfic something so I told her I would write her a Zarry drabble to podfic. :D In which Zayn and Harry frot on a motorbike. (Unsurprisingly inspired by the Kiss You video bike sharing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beaut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obstinatrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/gifts).



"She's a beaut, isn't she?"

Zayn sounds incredibly smug, and Harry would love to agree with him, give his bike the love she deserves - because she is a beaut, sleek and shiny black and powerful - but he's having trouble breathing, let alone talking, because Zayn - god. Zayn's done himself up in proper motorcycle leathers, his thighs long and slim and spread so casually around this purring beast of a bike, and with his sunglasses and cocky set of his shoulders; he knows exactly how good he looks but it doesn't lessen the effect. Enhances it, really, because Harry's got a terrible weakness for arrogant cocks sometimes.

"Come on, get on."

Harry stares dumbly at him for a moment. "I, er. I haven't got a helmet."

Zayn snorts. "Ain't going out on the roads, are we? Not yet. Just for a spin round the car park, come on." The car park around the back of the studios is mostly deserted, and not big enough for them to get into too much trouble if Zayn fucks up, so he shrugs and steps towards the bike.

Zayn's gaze follows him, heavy even through the sunglasses, and his smirk is sinful when Harry puts a hand on the warm black leather of the wide seat behind Zayn. "Uh," he says, heart pounding hard.

"Go on then," says Zayn, glancing over his shoulder now at Harry. "Get on. Won't bite, unless you want me to."

It's cheesy, but Harry is already undone by this whole situation, so it's also sexy, and Harry bites his lip. He gets on, lifting a leg and sliding it over the seat, spreading his thighs and settling his bum on the leather. The bike is idling beneath them, warm and alive, vibrations glorious, and Harry thinks, _fuck it_ , and shuffles forward, breathes out slow and heavy as he nestles his crotch up against Zayn's arse, skinny but firm in his leathers, and sighs at the pressure on his half-hard cock, primed to fatten up all the way before they're halfway around the car park.

"There you go," says Zayn, then, "Hold on t'me, go on."

Harry winds his arms around Zayn's small waist, props his chin on his shoulder and breathes in the heady scent of leather, cigarettes and motorbike grease, and feels better when he hears Zayn's breath hitch. They haven't done it in a while but it's not like they've never fooled around before, so it's not too crazy for Harry to lazily grind his hips forward into Zayn in just one unmistakable thrust.

"Jesus," says Zayn, and kicks his foot up onto the pedal, and guns the engine with a deft flick of his wrist. The bike shudders and roars beneath them, and Harry's gasp turns into a helpless moan as the bike surges forward, forcing Zayn's body back into his.

The car park is fairly small, but Zayn gets an impressive amount of speed up; the sheer unbridled glee of speed, the wind fierce in his hair, whipping it back against his face, makes Harry's heart pound in the surge of adrenaline. They bend around the corners at an angle that has Harry's knee gripping Zayn's knees in a glorious shock of fear, and then Zayn is stopping, swerving to a halt with a screech like they're in a film, in a dark far corner away from any cars or windows from the studio.

"What--" starts Harry, but Zayn just shakes his head, arches his body back into Harry's, and grabs Harry's hand from where it's wrapped around Zayn's stomach and pulls it down shamelessly to shove against the urgent hard swell of Zayn's cock in his leathers.

"Could feel your dick against me the whole way round," Zayn gasps, using his grip on Harry's hand to start a dirty grind up and down the trapped length of his prick until Harry picks up the rhythm. "Gets you off, doesn't it, this bike?"

"Speak for yourself," says Harry breathlessly, using the hand that isn't rubbing Zayn's dick to grip onto his hips and drag his arse tight back against Harry's cock. It isn't comfortable, his dick trapped under his tight jeans and wedged against the ridges of Zayn's leathers, but the rough grind and the lingering buzz of adrenaline and the scent of the bike and the leather and Zayn's whimpery little noises - god, oh god, it makes it all so fucking perfect. Harry's going to cream himself, right here in his jeans rubbing up against Zayn on a bike.

Zayn gets there first, though, one hand going back to grip hard at the outside of Harry's thigh and his hips jerk up lightning fast into Harry's hand and he goes silent; Harry can't feel him come, the leather's too thick, but he knows Zayn's tells. Harry grinds forward harder, rocking between grinding his dick up against Zayn's arse and the small of his back, then down to rub his swollen balls against the wide, firm leather of the bike seat, and comes in a shuddering rush, pressing his face into the side of Zayn's neck.

"Bloody - hell," he gets out as he comes down, and Zayn has gone lax and lazy against him, head lolling back on Harry's shoulder.

He laughs lazily. "Thought you might like the bike."


End file.
